


Concede And Give In To Your Inner Demons

by Hibisha



Series: A Sense of Belonging [3]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor continues to need a new hobby, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Manipulation, RadioDust week 2020, Slow Burn, TW: Panic Attacks, TW: mentions blood violence and murder to a certain degree, Twisted love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24319234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hibisha/pseuds/Hibisha
Summary: A man never forgets his first. Regardless of what the first is.RadioDust Week Day 4: First Time
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: A Sense of Belonging [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1750366
Comments: 20
Kudos: 139





	Concede And Give In To Your Inner Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I’m a day late but this was a monster to type. Also I believe it’s my first time writing from Alastor’s perspective, especially in this particular setting, so please bear with me. It’s a bit hard trying to get into his mindset but I’m happy with how it turned out! I admit it’s very different from its predecessor fics but the plan was always to reach this stage. *twiddles thumbs* Alright, enough deliberation, enjoy.

He was late.

Alastor absentmindedly drummed his fingers against the windowsill he was perched upon, observing the people walking in the filthy street below, unaware of how near scarlet eyes watched them, wondering where to cut that would make them scream the loudest. The man walking with a limp would have been an absolutely boring hunt. The couple that walked with their arms linked, not a care in the world - yes, they would make excellent prey. He’d kill the girl first. She’d be easily overpowered. The lover seemed like a brash young man - he would want to fight him for revenge. He’d kill him next. Alastor could feel his heart rate speed up at the thought.

Blood on the streets, eyes vacantly staring at him as he raised the knife once mo-

Ah he hadn’t felt the urge in quite a while.

Alastor wondered when he had outgrown his favourite pastime.

Seemingly the rush of almost being caught last time had been enough for his mind to last over a span of a few weeks.

He could remember it like it was yesterday.

* * *

_Alastor didn’t want to return home. The sweltering midsummer heat was weighing him down like a boulder placed on his back. The park bench he was seated on burning like hell fire. The park was empty except for the occasional runner or two passed by in a hurry. The news of the prolific serial killer had spread fast and no one wished to be caught in the warpath. The murders were coming up to a grand total of twenty three and the whole state was under strict supervision._

_And thus, he was bored._

_His recording session had ended earlier than he had expected, the news of the killer becoming fast boring and downright repetitive. Nothing new was made available to the public so there only so much Alastor could work on. He had deliberately left a number of things in his last kill to make a compelling story - an exciting piece on why the killer had suddenly started carving stag horns into his victims - but the police had kept it strictly confidential and Alastor did not want to give himself away by revealing anything more than he should know._

_That would not have been fun._

_Being here was also not fun._

_Yet, he did not wish to go home._

_The empty apartment almost felt like a cage of sorts. He hated it. It was simply a roof over his head, someplace to return to when he felt like resting. And right now, his body was thriving for a hunt. He did not want ‘rest’. He wanted blood on his hands._

_“Ah I’ll be coming home later ma. I just gotta pick up my dry cleaning. Yes, I know about the killer-” Alatstor’s attention was immediately on the woman passing by on her phone. “Everyone knows about him! No Ma, I don’t see anyone suspicious here. Just-” She blushed and lowered her voice and Alastor felt his grin widen._

_Ah._

_Showtime._

_It was easy to walk over and strike up a conversation. The blonde woman was almost a foot shorter than him, a bright cheerful smile and large bright eyes. If Alastor had to describe her, he would say she was conventionally attractive. Fifteen minutes into the conversation, he had her wrapped around his finger. Being a talk show host, he had carefully tailored his personality to attract all sorts of people to his web and the woman standing in front of him, clearly flustered, was no different - immediately asking if he would like to get a cup of coffee with her._

_Alastor beamed._

_Ah, finally, something to elevate his boredom._

_Pity, she lasted just long enough for her to call 911._

_Alastor almost wished he could get his hands on the recording for that call. The scream itself was music to his ears. Of course, she didn't know who he was, otherwise it would have been quite problematic. But she had been able to give enough information to put him in a bit of trouble being seen anywhere near the crime scene. Alastor had regretfully ended her life quicker than he intended, his blood boiling as it was not at all satisfied with how things had turned out._

_Rolling over to hide behind a car, his grin widened as his ears picked up police sirens in the distance._

_Oh. How exciting._

_The heat, the strong smell of iron flooding his senses and the sound of sirens in the air as he ducked from one street to another, his coat splattered with the evidence of his latest victim - it was enough of a rush to calm his nerves, to help him keep his blood lust in check. He turned into a filthy alley and spotted a staircase that seemed to lead up to some sort of run down apartment complex and without another thought, he made his way upstairs, a split second before a patrol car went by, wrinkling his nose as he did so._

_The smell was abhorrent._

_Guess beggars can't be choosers._

_Rushing up, Alastor reached into his pocket for his specialized pin - one he had crafted specifically for times like this. Alastor wrapped his hands around the first doorknob in his view but before he could so much as take his hand out of his pocket, the knob turned and the door swung inwards._

_Alastor paused before hastily going indoors and shutting the door close behind him._

_Once inside, he could tell why the person living there would not care about locking the door. The apartment was near empty. If it weren’t for the empty take out boxes on the floor and small couch shoved in the corner, and the gentle hum of a tiny refrigerator in what he could assume was a kitchen, Alastor would have guessed no one lived there. He entered the room cautiously, noting the large water stains on the ceiling and the wallpaper peeling off of the walls. The ground was bare of any form flooring, just a wide expanse of cement, uneven and cracked in places. Walking into the rather small living room, he warily eyed the door that led to what he guessed was a bedroom. Or a bathroom. The state of ruin the place was in, he wouldn’t be surprised if the door opened to air - nothing but a freefall. Slipping his gun out of his coat, he silently made his way to the door and after a small pause opened it to reveal an ever smaller room - Alastor would have sworn it was the size of his closet._

_The apartment was certainly devoid of any life._

_Placing his gun back into its hostler, he stepped into the small bedroom and gave it a cursory glance, noting how besides a bed, a single wooden closet and small vanity table, the room was just as bare as the other, and just as beaten down. The whole place was devoid of any pictures - no family, no posters. Nothing personal. He was about to walk out when he realized a small picture stuck to the mirror and upon closer inspection, he found himself looking at a pair of twins plus one. The twins, bubbly blue eyed blondes were smiling widely as an older boy - maybe another sibling? - made a face as he was dragged into the picture by the girl. The picture was old, tearing around the corners. Taking a step back, he realized there was another door, almost hidden by the closet and walked in to find a tiny attached bathroom._

_Hesitating for a moment, he proceeded to take off his bloody coat and wash what he could off of it before hanging it on the window to dry. Splashing water on his face, he stared at himself in the mirror, noticing the roar in his head had finally calmed down, only to be replaced by curious humming._

_The front door clicked open._

_Immediately, Alastor was at the bedroom door, hearing as someone stumbled into the apartment, the noise of heels on the filthy granite floor indicating that the owner had returned. Alastor peeked his head out just to see a blonde man, in his mid-twenties, stumble a bit before he sighed and loudly greeted the ‘empty’ room._

_Shoulders slumped in defeat. Voice devoid of emotion._

_“I’m home.”_

_Something inside Alastor purred._

_Leaning against the wall, he folded his arms and smiled._

_“Welcome back, darling.”_

* * *

Alastor chuckled.

The poor man had been an absolute wreck. Yet, even with shaking knees, he had pulled out a knife on him. The beast inside had laughed gleefully. Something in his mind was suddenly on fire. A single phrase ignited in his brain, refusing to die down.

 _How very entertaining_.

At first, Alastor had only meant to lie low till the police had left but watching the other fidget on the sofa on hours end had been altogether too amusing. So he returned the next week. And the next. And then once more after fortnight. With each visit, the other man grew both wary and more accepting of his presence. It was a precarious balance, one Alastor found joy and pleasure in maintaining almost religiously. It was truly one of the most entertaining things Alastor had witnessed in a long while. Angel seemed to be having a constant war with himself each time Alastor appeared on his doorstep - a moth drawn to the flame that was consuming Angel - and like a true gentleman, Alastor always brought along fuel for the fire - weapons for each side of Angel’s mind to use.

It was fascinating.

He could see the cogs turning in the blonde’s head as he mulled over the pros and cons to every move Alastor made. He could see Angel drawing up conclusions and yet he could never predict the outcome.

And that truly was the most endearing part of it all.

Routine was tedious.

Angel was unaware - or perhaps he knew all along, that his life depended on his ability to be unpredictable.

Speaking of -

Alastor looked at the clock, feeling mildly irritated as the hands moved well past 8:00 PM. Ah, it was going to be one of those days then. Angel was... _entertaining_ a customer. Which meant he would either be returning very late at night, or early the next day. Neither of those situations were ideal. Just as he wondered if he could track down where the prostitute worked, the front door swung open and Angel walked in.

Or rather, he _limped_ in.

The beast growled low inside his chest.

“Angel, there you are!” he cooed out as the other looked up, startled to see him even after all this time. Surely he should have gotten used to having his apartment broken into by now shouldn’t he? “I was just about to go look-”

“Can you leave, I really just wanna be alone right now.”

Alastor’s mouth snapped shut as the other gave him a blank stare. Ah, no conflict in those blue eyes, only utter resignation.

That simply would not do.

Eyes narrowing dangerously, he stepped closer as Angel realized his mistake and took several steps back of his own, hands raising weakly to call him off. Dark bruises around his wrists caught Alastor’s attention and he froze, pupils dilating. Angel seemed to understand where he was looking and immediately whipped his hands behind his back but Alastor’s eyes were already on the move.

Clothes in disarray, shirt slightly torn - hints of red around the shoulder. Bruises around the neck that couldn’t be hidden by his choker. Posture slanted, keeping pressure off of one leg by leaning all his weight on the other.

“The work of your pimp?” he asked curtly, having to fight himself from hissing.

“Look I-” was all Angel could manage before Alastor grabbed his coat and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him.

He didn’t return for another week.

* * *

The next time he dropped, Angel seemed to be very withdrawn. Avoiding his eyes, answering in clipped tones. It didn’t take an astrophysicist to catch what he was sulking about - Alastor’s last visit had been abhorrent even by his usual standards. After mulling it over for a weekend, he decided he couldn’t just remove Angel from the board just yet. Their little game was only in its embryonic stage -he needed to rectify the situation immediately. It was either woo Angel with falsehoods or kill him.

And Alastor didn’t want to give up his newest toy just yet.

So he did what was the best course of action in his opinion. He stalked Angel to his work, almost blending in with the shadows, keeping a safe distance and buying a bouquet of flowers on his way. After all, to sell a lie, you must first attract the customer. As they crossed into a dark alleyway, Alastor hesitated, watching Angel slip in through a door, a stairway leading him underground. Ah, so that’s where his little chess piece worked. Looking around with mild curiosity, he noticed several men and women entering the door after the blonde and bristled.

His only peace of mind that it was Tuesday.

Angel had once mentioned that on Tuesdays, due to an incident involving his pimp’s wife in the past, the shop always closed at 6:00 PM sharp. No exceptions. Angel’s work hours were from 4:00 PM onwards as he was the one who would usually be closing shop. It was almost like his day off from work - a fact that he had deliberately brought up multiple times, making sure the implications were clear. And Alastor, feeling oddly gracious, had relented and given him that much. 

Alastor found a small coffee shop nearby and decided to wait until the man would be done, hoping he didn’t have a customer for the night.

If he did, Alastor would be forced to dispose of the pest.

Sipping his coffee, he ignored all the looks he was getting from the others in the cafe. It was inevitable after all - dressed in a suit, he stuck out like a sore thumb. In hindsight, it would have been better to wear something that showed off his greatest mistake - the tattoo on his arm. Alastor had still not forgiven his ‘friends’ for that one drunken night. He had almost murdered half of them but had to fight off the urge by reminding himself that the only reason he kept them around was because each one of them was useful in one way or the other.

The minute they became dispensable, he would erase their existence from his life. Permanently.

Two hours went by in a blink of an eye and he put aside his book in favour of getting up and collecting his things to leave. Making his way to the entrance, he waited for Angel to appear, staring at his feet as several people walked out, slowly emptying the establishment. Alastor felt his smile become more forced as a few of Angel’s colleagues attempted to talk him into joining them, completely inebriated either due to alcohol or drugs.

He almost snarled in complete disgust. It didn’t help that he had flowers - it seemed to attract them by the hordes and after a few cat calls and jeers, he vowed to execute at least half of them to satisfy his near-blinding rage.

Angel was still nowhere to be seen.

Alastor could feel the blood lust rising within. He growled softly, patience finally wearing thin, and slipped in through the entrance, making his way downstairs. A dimly lit hallway lined on either side by multiple doors greeted him and he did not need to open them to guess what was inside. Hurrying forward, he found himself face to face with a large set of double doors, bathed in neon pink lights. Reaching out, he only barely managed to crack it open when a familiar voice filled his ears.

“Get off me you sick son offa bitch, I told ya, I ain’t taking no customers tonight!”

Alastor froze.

“I said I’ll pay ya good money slut, what’s the problem?”

“And I said - no! You-” Angel’s words were cut off as a loud slap resonated in the room, the noise reaching out through the crack in the doors. 

Hss patience, already spread very thin, snapped.

Dropping the bouquet to the ground, he gently opened the door and slipped inside, making sure neither of them could detect him. Standing in the shadows, he watched the spectacle before him with large unblinking eyes as Angel stood his ground against a large bear like man, who was now living on borrowed time.

“Do ya need me to complain to Val again? Didja already forget wha’ happened last time _Angel cakes_?”

Alastor watched as Angel froze, one hand immediately jumping to his throat, the other wrapping around his waist. Eyes widening in panic, and even from this distance, he could see the cogs at work again, going insane in his head. His source of entertainment.

But this-

This wasn’t entertaining.

The way Angel’s shoulders dropped in defeat made his vision turn red.

No, this was absolutely not entertaining at all. It was wretched - Angel was simply helpless. And most important of all, it was not Alastor who was causing Angel’s head to spin.

Angel’s voice trembled as he finally spoke out. “Look, I don’t want no trouble okay. Plenty of the girls are still upstairs hanging out I’m sure.”

“Did ya forget what happened last time? Did you forget what we did to ya?”

_Clothes in disarray, shirt slightly torn - hints of red around the shoulder. Bruises around the neck that couldn’t be hidden by his choker. Posture slanted, keeping pressure off of one leg by leaning all his weight on the other._

**_Broken._ **

“Well, I can’t speak for him, but I certainly haven’t!” Both of them whipped around to face Alastor as he stepped out from the shadows. His smile was positively sinister, eyes never leaving the large man as he spoke. “Angel dear, tell me honestly. Is he the one?” _Is he the one that hurt you that day?_ The man was turning red in the face, starting to move towards the brunette, no doubt in a vain attempt to harm him.

Ah, what silly creatures these half wits are.

He just needed something from Angel first. And like always, the blonde didn’t disappoint.

“Yes.” came a whisper and that was that. In a fluid motion he stepped out of the lumbering man’s way as he rushed past and brought down his gun on the fool’s skull with a sickening crack and enough force to make him come crashing down. The man yelled out in pain, clutching the back of his head. After a while of screams and a tirade of threats and insults, he groaned and rolled over onto his back only to find Alastor standing over him, a demonic grin on his face and a gun pointed right between his eyes.

The news report of the killer's identity read as such: A brunette with dark eyes. Tall. Tanned skin.

A smile that haunts you in your sleep.

The man screamed, trying to back away and ultimately landing in Angel’s feet, who seemed to have frozen in place. Alastor grinned maniacally, eyes dancing to a wicked tune only he could hear as he fired bullets straight into all the man’s limbs, making him unable to escape. Usually, this was the part Alastor loved the most - when they started crying and screaming for mercy he didn’t possess. But something else had caught his attention and ignored the man in favour of walking over to Angel, his smile turning more genuine.

The minute he had shot the roach on the floor, Angel’s face had lit up and the man had almost _smiled_. It had been only there for a second - a ‘blink and you missed it’ smile but Alastor hadn’t blinked.

And he rarely ever missed.

“Angel.” He was almost purring. “Would you like to do the honours?” Blue eyes snapped in his direction, wide and full of horror.

“Are you ins-” He couldn’t finish the rest of his sentence, shaking his head vigorously. “No no no. I ain’t gonna - I won’t. This isn’t right. I shouldn’t have-” Watching Angel tremble, Alastor couldn't help but chuckle.

“Mon ange, he has seen my face. He knows who I am. If you do not do it, I certainly will. Look at how much blood he’s lost - he won't survive even if you call an ambulance right now.” Slowly circling him, he leaned over his back, hands planted on Angel’s shoulders and then chin resting on top of his own hands, his cheek pressed against Angel’s as he forced him to look at the whimpering man before them. “Wouldn’t you want to do it yourself? Hmmm~? Imagine all the pain he’s caused you. Surely _someone like him_ doesn't deserve your mercy.” He watched as blue eyes darkened and one of his hands wrapped around a wrist, covering the phantom bruises from before.

Angel was a masterpiece, he marveled to himself as he watched the gears spin once more, each piece of him so utterly broken. The world had brought him down to his knees and oh how fortuitous was it that it was right at Alastor’s feet. Slipping his hand downward and into Angel’s jacket, he brought out the knife he knew the other didn’t travel anywhere without and gently placed it in his hands.

“Come now, what was this man saying? _Don’t you remember what he did to you_?

The final nail in the coffin - well another man’s coffin. Angel’s eyes glazed over as he stepped forward, out of Alastor’s arms, completely deaf to the begging coming from the other man. Standing over the sniveling mess, Angel raised the knife with both hands.

“I'm not...your slut.” And then, almost in slow motion, much to Alastor utter delight, he brought the knife down.

The blade glinted under the dim lighting of the club as it plunged deep into the man’s chest, Angel’s blue eyes burning with absolute fury. Somewhere, Alastor could feel the other’s namesakes weeping, mourning the loss of an innocent soul as Angel fell into the pits of darkness Alastor had talked him into. The blonde raised the knife over his head once more, even as the man underneath tried to fight him off, feeble and weak but Angel did not go astray from the path the brunette had paved for him.

If asked, Alastor would say the blonde ascended.

Death itself would have bowed.

“I am not...your whore!” Again.

“I. AM. NOT. YOUR. FUCKING. PROPERTY!” Again and again and again. 

And again.

Angel repeatedly brought down the knife into the man’s body, tearing into it as if it were not one but several people he was cleansing out from his life. From where he stood, Alastor could faintly make out Angel’s lips mouthing words that seemed lost in the tears streaming down his face, drenched in blood. 

Alastor had never seen him look more beautiful.

If there was a heaven, he was sure he had just caught a glimpse of it. Angel was holy in the the most ungodly of ways.

Alastor didn’t know love but perhaps this was the closest he had ever been to it. 

The man was long dead even before Angel stopped. Realization of what he had done crashed down on him like a tidal wave and with a gasp of horror, he flung the knife as far as possible, scrambling to get away from the mess of flesh and blood in front of him. Watery eyes found his as Angel held up an accusatory finger.

“You- you made me- Oh God. Oh God OH GOD. WHAT DID I JUST- I-” Hands immediately went to claw at his scalp, fisting around his hair as he wailed, trying to get air into his lungs. “I just- he’s dead. OH GOD - FUCKING CHRIST ALASTOR HE’S DEAD. I KILLED HIM! I KILLED HIM!” Alastor tilted his head, watching as Angel spiralled into hysteria, his breathing turning erratic and his body shaking to the point of convulsions. And yet, Alastor stayed absolutely still, silently observing but not offering any words of comfort - why wreck what he had so lovingly created? Angel turned to look at him once more, his tear streaked face making quite the sight to behold.

“Why…” he finally whispered before his eyes fluttered shut just as Alastor darted forward, catching Angel in his arms before he hit the ground.

“Why?” Laughing softly, he combed Angel’s hair back, away from his face as he picked him up, and made his way towards the door. “Why does anyone do anything my dear? Sheer absolute boredom!” He climbed the steps with care, trying not to jostle around Angel too much, leading them away from the wretched place. Gently laying him down on the ground outside, he disappeared indoors once more only to retrieve the knife and carve stag horns into the nearest wall. Taking a step back to marvel at his own handiwork and then at Angel’s, he pulled out a lighter from his coat.

Hell would tremble before the fire he ignited.

There was much to be done. Angel would be waking up soon and Alastor needed to be prepared for what followed. The game had changed drastically and Alastor had never been more thrilled to play. He needed to make sure Angel understood the joys of the kill. Ducking into an alleyway, he verified that Angel was properly covered in his coat, not a trace of blood visible to anyone carelessly passing them by. 

To anyone else, it seemed like Alastor was simply carrying his intoxicated lover home.

Another small laugh.

Surely, Angel would not forget the feeling of having a man at his feet, begging to be granted clemency.

After all, a man never forgets his first.

**Author's Note:**

> *whistles*
> 
> Also I continue to do small edits to this till I’m completely satisfied.


End file.
